Entity
by idreamedofstardust
Summary: Once upon a time, Dean Winchester saved the life of one of the most powerful creations to ever walk the Earth...and he didn't even know it.
1. Part I

**I've been unofficially cleaning out all the documents I have saved on my account here. This is a story that is rare in the sense that I actually have the next 3 parts of it written out. I never write a story past the current chapter. How unique! If this gets a good response, I'll continue. If it's something that was better left unpublished, I won't. I'll update based on whether you guys are interested or not. Either way, I hope you enjoy this strange concoction. Apologies beforehand for OOC-ness.**

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><p><strong>Part I<strong>

Once upon a time, Dean Winchester saved the life of one of the most powerful creations to ever walk the Earth...and he didn't even know it.

Which was sort of the point.

See, this woman he saved, while all kinds of almighty, wasn't in the business of revealing to the passing stranger just exactly who she was. So, when Dean just barely pulled her intoxicated form out of the way of an incoming semi truck, he had little reason to believe she was nothing more than someone who'd stumbled out of a town bar after a heavy night of drinking. Vomiting all over his jeans and subsequently passing out definitely supported this theory.

Upon reaching sobriety in a motel room at nine twenty seven the next morning, the woman reluctantly acknowledged her savior in the best way she could while still maintaining her dignity.

"The hell happened last night?"

Dean recognized a hangover when he saw one. Being the gentleman that he was (and definitely not because he'd caught glimpses of her generous cleavage each time she tossed and turned on the motel bed) obliged by answering her.

"You didn't know how to handle your liquor. I saved your ass from being roadkill," he couldn't help but boast, trying to seem nonchalant about it. "Or maybe you were looking for a death wish. Either way, watch yourself next time. I won't be there to save your pretty ass."

Perhaps not the most elegant answer, but what he lacked in conversation, Dean made up for in looks. Or so his twenty-three year old mind liked to convince him.

The woman, to his surprise, wasn't amused with his wise crack jargon.

"Suicide is a sin, asshole. I wasn't trying to kill myself," she defended irately. "And I can handle my liquor. You could have filled a bath tub with the amount I drank last night."

She didn't sound particularly proud of herself.

"I saved your life," he reminded.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" she returned, moving to her feet.

Opening his mouth, Dean searched his arsenal of witty retorts for a good answer.

Oddly enough, he came up empty. Her casual dismissiveness was really screwing with his comebacks.

"This quest for the last word doesn't matter. You're right," she cut off through a yawn, stretching both arms above her. "You did save my life. I've got to be more careful drinking. Thanks."

With that, she slipped off a hair tie from her wrist and bunched up her purple hair into a sloppy ponytail.

All while purposefully ignoring him.

Unused to having chicks being impassive after saving their lives, Dean leaned against the kitchen wall with a decidedly positive morale. She appeared to be not much older than him - two years at best - and for some urgent reason, he felt it was important to remedy her dislike of him. Or at least what he thought was dislike. That was the opposite of like, right?

"Need a ride somewhere?" he offered.

"No."

"I've got a car."

"Congratulations. I have legs."

"You're hungover."

"I don't get hungover."

"Everyone gets hungover."

"Not me. I was blessed to never feel a headache or nausea the morning after."

Actually, this tid bit was true. Just a perk of being ungodly powerful.

But of course, Dean didn't believe it.

"Lady, I don't know-."

"Lady?" the woman stopped him, eyebrows raised. "How old do you think I am, Chachi?"

"I didn't mean to say...to imply that you were...heh..."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, suddenly wishing he'd never said anything in the first place. For whatever reason, conversation with this woman just wasn't working out.

Meanwhile, the woman used this silence to finally take him in. Beforehand, her attention had been on assessing the room and whether her savior had done anything indecent to her while she was asleep.

"First time on your own?" she guessed, voice calmer than before.

"Might be," he shrugged off, trying to regain his cool. He'd been the one to save her. Now, it was time he acted like a man and not some blundering jackass.

For once in a very, very long while (though Dean wouldn't have ever known this at the time), the woman's normally reserved expression, relaxed slightly.

"Pulled me out of the way of a semi truck, dealt with me vomiting all over you, brought me somewhere safe, cleaned me up and didn't once take advantage of me. That's admirable. I commend you for that."

"Are you the kinda chick that thinks all guys are pigs?"

"If I oink, will you understand me?"

Her sarcasm was razor sharp, but Dean refused to believe he couldn't keep up with it.

"Wouldn't mind a genuine thank you."

"Thank you, Chachi. You saved my life."

"That's you being genuine?"

Though he meant it jokingly, it struck the woman somewhat soberly. Sometimes, she forgot she could get a bit of an attitude about things.

"What's your name?" she tried.

"Dean."

"Just Dean? Were you raised by Madonna?"

"Oh, please. I'm more of an Ozzy man myself."

"What is your last name, Dean?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to sell your kidney on Ebay," she deadpanned, tampering down on the urge to roll her eyes.

While a bit frustrated with her savior, she had to remind herself that humans were a bit slow sometimes. Getting impatient solved nothing.

"Winchester. Dean Winchester."

The woman's head tilted curiously. She'd definitely heard that last name before. Not paired with a first name, but mentioned in passing conversations on both the good and evil side of the spectrum. Which meant her decision might pack a more significant punch than she first assumed.

"I'm Blair," she introduced, briefly raising her arm and offering him a wave with her fingers.

"Like the project?" he laughed.

"Shut up," she mumbled. "I have enough issues with that movie."

This was accurate. She'd actually encountered the witch the movie was based off of.

Not even remotely evil.

They'd watched the film together with tears of laughter running down their cheeks.

Dean approached her with an extended hand and after a few seconds of staring at the limb, Blair shook it firmly.

It took a mere three seconds before she knew Dean's entire life story from that touch. Five before she recalled the conversations she'd heard swirling around him.

Yes, he would definitely need this.

"I'm going to give you a cell phone number, Dean Winchester," Blair announced, studying him carefully. "You are to never write it down or keep it stored where it can be accessed by someone other than yourself, do you understand? In fact, you're going to memorize it and never give it out to anyone else."

"You are one weird chick. If you wanted to hook up-."

"This isn't a hookup. And you are _far_ from my type."

Dean frowned at that.

"This is my payment back to you," she continued seriously. "You can reach me at any time with this number. But understand that I'll answer it only once from you. Should you ever need anything, you call me and I will help you. Do you understand?"

He didn't, but this woman wanted him to. And he, weirdly enough, wanted to as well. Could come in handy, provided she wasn't a complete nut job.

"So, magic number gets me anything I want?" he surmised.

"You use it once. And use it wisely. This is the number you call when the world's gone to hell and you're out of options."

She worded it as a multiple meaning metaphor, knowing he wouldn't quite understand its implication for a good long time. By touch alone, she saw a very difficult path laid out before him. In the end, he would come to need this more than he knew. Though, the exact details were still a bit foggy for her.

"Alright, I'll bite," he accepted. "What's the cost?"

"If you want to be paranoid about it, consider it paid. I'm still alive because of you."

"So...I can have anything I want? Money? A house?"

"Don't be so predictable. This is a lifeline. For when your _life_ is on the _line_."

"I can take care of myself," Dean remarked stubbornly. "And I definitely don't need you looking out for me when you can barely pass a sobriety test."

Dean was twenty-three. In his defense, he was still mastering the art of speaking with charm.

Blair, bless her complicated heart, understood this.

"Want the number or not?"

She'd have given it to him regardless, but it was funner to make him work for it.

"Yeah, fine. But I gotta warn you...I don't call a girl for at least a week after. And my brain gets cluttered with a lot more important things."

"Yes, of course," she nodded seriously. "I'm sure knowing all the websites for Japanese pantie porn will come in handy."

This was about as close as Blair ever came to revealing she was something other than human since she'd glimpsed the very website in his head.

Thankfully, Dean assumed she was joking. And that worked just fine for her.

"You never know," he shrugged, returning her grin.

"You'll remember this number, right?"

He nodded casually.

And so, Blair recited the number three times. Then had him repeat the digits back the same amount just to be sure he had it.

Once she was sure those pantie porn websites really wouldn't interfere with his memorization of her number, she thanked him once more for saving her life before steering her way to the door.

"What had you drinking your sanity away anyway?" Dean blurted just as she passed the entryway.

She paused, fighting the urge to close her eyes.

Humans. They always wanted to make things personal. Relate to something. Just as much as it was cute, it was also equally taxing at times.

"My parents just died," she admitted, facing forward.

"You have parents?"

"I wasn't hatched from an egg."

"I just meant...you act-."

"I understand."

And she did.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not the end of the world. I still have a lot left to do," Blair disclosed, glancing at the man behind her one last time. "Goodbye, Dean Winchester."

He felt like he should have said an equally climatic goodbye.

But all he could come up with was, "See ya."


	2. Part II

**To my 2 reviewers and 4 persons who have this on story alert, ENJOY! Apologies for any OOC-ness.**

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><p><strong>Part II<strong>

Unfortunately, Dean had been entirely accurate in mentioning that his head often became cluttered. Usually with guilt or worry or anger, quite often all three. And over the years, the number Blair supplied him with gradually disappeared beneath the stresses of being a hunter and trying to save Sammy and going to hell and being involved in a tug of war with angels and demons and being responsible for the deaths of people close to him.

The stuff got to him and festered like a disease with no antibiotic.

When he finally did remember Blair's number, it was entirely unintentional.

He was alone in a motel room in Pennsylvania, pacing over the carpet in frustration. For a while, he'd been considering the idea of saying yes to Michael. There seemed to be no other option left and while it pained him to consider it, he couldn't deny how worn out he felt. Like a punching bag that's seen its fair share of beatings, being kept together only by a sheet of dust and worn stitches.

Dean may have been thirty, but he felt aged far beyond his years. On top of that - though he seldom acknowledged it - his energy was being depleted at an alarming rate. Some days, it felt like he was burning out from the inside, and not just because of the apocalypse. Though he'd die before letting Sammy catch him saying it, Dean wasn't convinced he had that much fight left inside him.

It was while reluctantly accepting this unpleasant thought that Blair's words slipped into his head, knocked loose by his own indecisiveness.

_"This is the number you call when the world's gone to hell and you're out of options."_

Initially, he brushed the thought away with annoyance. Even if Blair had meant well and been weirdly insistent on him memorizing her number, there was no way she could possibly do anything to get him out of his situation. She'd probably meant him to utilize it if he ever needed money or a place to stay. Not as a means of avoiding the apocalypse.

But, he was becoming desperate. Saying-yes-to-Michael desperate. And something about the way she'd phrased her offer made him reluctant to disregard the idea altogether.

He ended up calling the number without Castiel or Sam's knowledge. They really didn't need to know the desperation he was experiencing. Or that he was considering saying yes. Or that maybe he was crazy enough to put his faith in a woman who in her inebriation, danced in the middle of a country road at two in the morning.

It rang four times before going to voice mail and just like that, the faith in Dean's chest sank like an anchor into the abyss.

Well, that is until he heard the message recorded for the voice mail.

_"If you have this number, against my better judgment, I've come to trust you. Don't make me regret it."_

Freezing, Dean opened his mouth a few times after the first beep. For as much as he'd hoped she'd answer, he didn't exactly have an elegant speech rehearsed.

"Hey...Blair? I don't know if you remember me, but it's Dean. Dean Winchester. I uh...saved you...sorta about seven-ish years ago. And was kind of a dick about it."

Sighing wearily, Dean sank into the bed, bringing the cell closer to his mouth.

"I need your help. I don't know how serious you were about all that you'd said or if you'd even be willing to...listen. Or if the kind of help I need is something you could even-."

The second beep cut the rest of what he wanted to say, off.

Chucking the phone at his duffle bag, Dean fell backwards on the bed. He didn't feel any better about making the call. For all he knew, she had a new number and was half way across the world. He just wished he'd used it sooner when he'd been in tighter situations.

Though, could it really get any worse than this?

X_x_X_x_X

Not even a full day later, the number he was coming to re-familiarize himself with, unexpectedly called back.

He was sitting in a diner with Sam and Cas, passively listening to their hopeful plans of outwitting Lucifer and Zachariah. The former kept invading Sam's dreams and the latter hunted with his own garrison for them tirelessly. Dean didn't have the heart to suggest his idea. Sam was trying so hard to make up for his mistakes with Ruby, and Castiel...well, the dude was more dedicated to free will than he was at the moment. It was like kicking a puppy you'd intentionally given hope to.

Dean glanced down at the number when his cell buzzed in his hand, nearly choking on his burger when he realized who it was.

"I gotta take this."

He wasn't exactly discrete about his exit, tripping over Sam's confused form in his effort to leave the booth.

Fifteen seconds later and he was locked in the men's bathroom.

"Blair?" he whispered, trying to keep his heart from pumping too loud.

"Dean Winchester," the woman greeted. "What happened to your voice?"

God, she sounded as if they'd met yesterday. It made him want to laugh like the cocky guy he'd been at twenty-three.

"It got deeper?" he answered, unsure of what to say.

"I like it. So, you finally called me. From your message, I'm assuming you're in trouble."

As much as he wanted to, Dean couldn't get the words he wanted, out. He could still be completely misreading the situation.

So, he stayed quiet, staring at a faded green stain on the stall wall.

"You're close to saying yes to Michael?" came her soft inquiry.

"You knew."

He wanted to sound angry. She'd probably known about it the moment she met him. Most likely why she offered her help in the first place.

But to be honest, relief was the emotion that won out. She hadn't said no or turned him away yet. Maybe there was still another option.

"I don't know what else to do," he added, trying to keep the uncertainty out of his voice.

Sounding weak wasn't his thing. Though, he got the impression Blair wouldn't mind. She never expected him to call when he'd been living large. This had always been a call to make out of desperation.

"Dean, I need to tell you this before you get the wrong idea in your head," she began. "I never knew you would be put in this kind of situation. As Michael's vessel. Or that Sam would be Lucifer's. Those years ago when you shook my hand, I only knew you to be the righteous man the angels spoke of who would have to be making some difficult decisions. I've checked up on what you were up to every now and again, but it was never my place to intervene unless you asked. I have always kept my cell on, waiting for the day it would get to be too much. Going to hell...that's a fate I'd have done anything to spare you from."

Her voice was devoid of any sarcasm or playfulness. It was honest and serious, almost bordering on regretful. Dean tried ignoring the prickling he felt at the corner of his eyes.

"To this day, I am grateful to you for saving my life. And by giving you my number, I only ever meant to save you back."

Clearing his throat, Dean clarified, "You uh...didn't know about Michael and Lucifer's plan?"

"I've been away from heaven for a long time," she admitted. "Like many, I assumed the angels would try to help you, not hinder. And demons are about as pleasant to work with as shining a boot. I don't...have many close friends, and the ones I do aren't usually concerned with human affairs. The grand scheme of things...I was never interested in knowing them. I only cared about the sun rising each day."

"So, you're an angel?"

"Hardly," Blair denied. "They are blindly obedient to their Father. In a lot of cases, that blindness works against them."

"I don't get it then. What the hell are you?"

She didn't respond immediately.

"Honestly, Dean, it doesn't matter. What you need to know is that I was powerful enough to get you out of your contract with the crossroads demon that sent you to hell."

"Why didn't you?"

Now, his anger took center stage.

"I don't interfere, Dean," she reminded sternly. "Nor does my life center around yours. I had my bad days too that required my full attention. And I never wanted to take this decision out of your hands. You would always be the one to call me, not the other way around. Considering you haven't had the chance to be in control lately, I should hope you'll utilize this moment to the best of your ability."

He couldn't hate her for making sense. Though, it was a screwed up kind of irony that only near the end would he finally have a semblance of control over his destiny.

"Now, tell me what you need and I will do my best to help you."

"I need help preventing the apocalypse without sacrificing my brother."

"Done."

Dean blinked.

"What do you mean _done_?"

"I mean what I'm about to do will suddenly shift a whole bunch of unwanted attention onto me. And because you waited until the last minute, I can't guarantee my plan will be without its kinks. Actually, I'm sure there will be some sort of obstacle I'll overlook. But you and your brother will both live. I can guarantee that."

"What are you planning to do?"

The three second pause had his stomach twisting into knots.

"Save your life."

And with that, the line went dead.

He tried calling her back numerous times throughout the evening, heart filled with anxiety and hope at the same time. Was she bullshitting or telling the truth?

But, Blair never answered.


	3. Part III

**To my reviewers and story alerters, enjoy! Quick apologies for any OOC-ness.**

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><p><strong>Part III<strong>

Dean didn't understand the full nature of Blair's plan until he was ambushed by Zachariah and his cronies five days later. One of which included Michael, wearing the body of a young male with an athlete's body. Or, at least what had once been an athlete.

By the looks of the charred cheeks, he was burning through him fast.

"Get behind me," Castiel commanded, pushing the brothers backwards.

"Not much you can do, Castiel," Zachariah chided, shaking his head. "We've been tracking you monkeys for weeks. This time, Michael isn't taking no for an answer. And frankly, neither am I."

Dean had just enough time to flinch before Zachariah snapped his fingers.

He was expecting his organs to explode or maybe tongue cancer this time.

Neither occurred.

In fact, nothing happened for such a long while that Dean managed to glance at Sam and Cas, seeing their forms were in one piece as well.

"You are impotent," Castiel stated out of nowhere, tilting his head slightly. "Why are you impotent?"

Zachariah's face twisted into a nasty grimace as he expectantly snapped his fingers again.

But, Castiel, Sam, and Dean remained unharmed.

"Michael?" Zachariah called, turning to the angel in confusion.

The vessel Michael chose had unusually expressive, thick brown eyebrows. And at the moment, they were currently pulled together into a near straight line.

"Something's wrong," he stated deeply, eyes glued to Dean. "What did you do?"

"Me?" Dean argued. "I didn't do anything."

"I am impotent as well," Castiel announced, staring down at his hands. "This is...awkward."

"So...are you saying no one can work their...mojo?" Sam surmised, semi-quoting his brother.

"How is that possible?" a strict looking woman to Zachariah's left whispered.

The alleyway began to bustle in confusion.

"By Father, I can't even expel myself from this vessel," the same woman muttered.

"Cas...what's going on?"

"I...do not know," the angel answered slowly. "Our graces have temporarily been subdued somehow."

"If none of the angels can use their abilities, that means Michael and Lucifer can't possess us."

Sam's quiet revelation finally got Dean to connect the dots.

"Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed.

"What did you do, Dean?" Michael repeated, a dangerous edge in his voice.

"Sorry, dude. You really screwed the pooch on this one. Word to the wise, don't piss off people more powerful than you."

"Dean-."

The elder Winchester ignored Castiel's warning.

Blair had done it! He wasn't exactly sure how, but she did. So long as the asshats couldn't tap into their ability or exit their vessels, he and Sammy would be safe.

"How dare you disrespect Michael?" the strict woman demanded, marching forward.

"Jophiel-," Michael cautioned.

"I will bleed you dry and make you wish you'd said yes to him a thousand times," she threatened, raising two menacing, manicured hands.

Dean raised his own arms halfway, unsure if she'd actually try to attack him.

"I don't usually hit chicks," he mentioned.

"Were she at full power, she wouldn't hesitate to smite you," Castiel input. "Defend yourself. You are at an advantage by being a hunter. With the exception of Michael, the rest of them are unfamiliar with fighting in their vessels. They aren't soldiers. "

"Who have you been in contact with, Dean?" Michael interrupted. "You were debating saying yes to me. Now, you cannot. Who is responsible for this?"

"If you think I'm going to tell your sorry ass, you got another thing coming."

"Whoever they are, they cannot be trusted," the archangel advised seriously. "Someone who has enough power to dull an angel's grace is not on the side of God or light."

"You're just scared because you finally can't defend yourself," Sam accused.

"Neither can you," he countered before meeting Zachariah's eyes. "Let them go. We will find a way around this on our own. And when we do, understand I will show no mercy upon you three-."

His gazed narrowed at Dean.

"-or the person helping you."

"Good luck with that," Dean offered. "Hey, maybe try dealing with Lucifer the human way. Ya know, a few slaps here and there. Maybe a hissy fit contest. That'd teach both of you bastards."

"I am not a bastard," Michael growled icily, taking a step forward.

Before Dean could goad him further, Castiel grabbed a hold of his shoulder and dragged him away from the incensed archangel. Sam followed the duo, but also kept an eye on the five vessels watching their retreat.

It wasn't until they were safely a block away inside a diner that Sam and Castiel promptly turned to Dean.

"That was a close one," he laughed, throwing on a half grin. "I'm starved. I wonder if they have pie."

"Michael said you're involved with the person who won't let the angels use their grace," Sam stated, watching him cautiously. "Is that true?"

"What are they?" Castiel interjected in bewilderment.

"Was he right? Is this person dangerous?"

"What did you sacrifice for this deal?"

"Hey, hey, guys, chill," Dean mitigated, holding out two hands. "I called in a favor and got things worked out. Can't we just be happy Lucifer and Michael aren't going to be riding our asses into the apocalypse?"

"Dean," Castiel warned, "if Michael - God's fiercest soldier - warned you not to be involved with this individual, then I strongly suggest following the advice. It should be celestially impossible to disconnect an angel on Earth from their grace without physically extracting it. Whatever you are in league with, don't-."

"You must be the angel of the group. No one else can be that much of a buzz kill so quickly."

All three men turned in the direction of the voice, only to find a woman seated patiently in a booth, staring up at them from an open menu.

"Blair," Dean blurted, forgetting to heed Castiel's warning about her nature as he approached the table.

"Dean," Blair approved, scanning his form appreciatively. "You've gotten handsome."

"You've gotten sober," he noted. "And have blue hair."

"Don't be the asshole who won't let me live that night down," she grumbled teasingly. "As to the hair color, I began to get recognized. A real shame, too. I really liked the purple."

"It's...nice?"

"Thank God you don't compliment people for a living. Are you going to introduce the guys standing awkwardly behind you?"

"Uh, right, this is my brother Sam and my friend, Castiel," he gestured, facing the two. "Cas is the angel."

"Pleasure to meet you both," Blair announced, smiling lightly.

"How come I never got the nice greeting?" Dean complained.

"You were a bit of a dick, remember? Plus, I need your brother and angel friend to trust that I don't have any sinister intentions. Their protectiveness of you is nearly radiating off of them, if not in aura, then definitely in body language. You should have told them about our conversation, Dean."

"It wasn't a good time."

Blair opened her mouth, but closed it upon catching the meaning in Dean's answer.

"Please, sit down," she offered instead.

Dean wasted no time, sliding in next to Blair.

Sam and Castiel, however, occupied the opposite side rather hesitantly.

"Guys, Blair's not going to hurt you," Dean defended, feeling somewhat irritated at their misgivings. "Seven or so years ago, dad and I were in Colfax, Indiana. We just got done with a job when dad decided to meet up with a few hunters. They were exchanging information about an increase in demonic possessions happening in Louisiana. It was one of the few times I got a night off. I went to a bar, had a few, and on my way to the Impala, saw Blair on the road, a semi truck coming right at her. She was drunk out of her mind, dancing around like an idiot-"

He earned a glare for that.

"-I pulled her out of the way and saved her life. She felt like doing the same and gave me a number to call if I ever needed anything. A few days ago, I finally made that call. Now, neither Michael nor Lucifer are able to possess us. I don't see the harm."

"How are you able to gather the power for this?" Castiel immediately questioned, aiming the mother of all squints at her. "Angels are above-."

"I have special friends with special talents," she answered casually. "One of them owed me a favor and at the eleventh hour, we put our heads together. Simple as that."

"There's always a _but_ with these things," Sam pitched in.

"That is true," she agreed, eyeing him thoughtfully. "What I've done is temporary. I'm not going to hold off the magic forever."

"Magic?"

"Angels aren't the only beings I've...grounded, so to speak," she explained tentatively, facing Dean. "Anything mythical, spiritual, supernatural, or fantastical, I've taken away its juice. It can exist, of course, but if its movements or feeding habits involve magic, they'll be unable to use it. This includes shimmering, teleporting, using spells that otherwise come naturally to them, etcetera and so on. "

"So, basically, you neutered the entire supernatural world," Dean deduced.

"That's a nicer term than circumcising," she mused, a grin threatening to sprout. "Yes, I did."

"So, demons-."

"Either in hell or stuck in their vessels or a black mass unable to possess bodies."

"And any supernatural creature we ever faced?" Sam followed up.

"They are in their most basic form. Take werewolves for example. The lunar cycle holds its own magic that influences the moods and feeding habits of a werewolf. Without that magic, they're just abnormally large dogs running around. Some will even retain their human mind."

"You took away the magic," Castiel clarified with a furrowed brow.

"Briefly suspended it until this whole mess with Lucifer and Michael is worked through. Surely you realize that your grace's abilities is magic in its most powerful form?"

Castiel appeared pensive, not responding for the moment.

"Why don't you keep it this way forever?" Dean demanded. "Do you know how many human lives you'd save from the evil bastards who hunt them for food and fun?"

"I would also be responsible for the genocide of countless races," she reminded candidly. "There would be some creatures - like angels and demons in human bodies - that would be able to handle the complete depletion of magic from the world. Witches too, but they are rather snotty about it. Especially the millennia old ones. Usually because magic hides their true faces. More creatures than not, however, rely on magic for survival and growth. They may not all be your best friends, Dean, but some are pacifists, misunderstood, or important to human sustainability. Eventually, I must return what is inherently theirs. No being should have the right to play God."

"You are uncommonly compassionate for someone who yields so much power," Castiel commented, studying her intensely. "Michael, the archangel, believes you have something to gain from this."

"Michael is a kiss-assing daddy's boy."

Sam released a snort while Dean let loose an unusually loud laugh.

"My actions have lost me the invisibility on everyone's radar I've spent centuries trying to maintain," Blair continued. "When the magic returns, there's going to be a lot of pissed off individuals trying to figure out what happened. I can be as careful as I want, but some will be able to pick on my magic as I try to blend in again. The gain from this isn't mine, but rather Dean's."

Whatever anyone else had to say, it was interrupted by the waitress appearing at the side of their table.

"What can I get you?" she snapped boredly.

"My treat," Blair offered the men, eyes flicking back to the menu. "I'll have the chicken dumpling soup, side of fries, and a water."

The waitress mechanically scribbled the order down.

"What's your special?" Dean asked politely, accepting the menu Blair slid over to him.

Blair briefly tuned out of the conversation, feeling the distinct burn of a set of eyes trained on her. Neutrally, she glanced up.

Castiel, startled at being caught staring, looked down at his lap.

Sighing softly, she studied the angel.

"Does me having more power than your Father, unnerve you?"

Just as quickly, Castiel's head shot up as both eyes narrowed.

"You know Enochian?" he mumbled back.

"I know many languages," was all she said. "Answer my question."

"It is not...natural. I don't know any being - holy or otherwise - that can hold the power you can. Other than my Father."

"Your dad is a complicated man," Blair acknowledged, frowning.

"You have...spoken with him?"

She opened her mouth, but closed it when Dean interrupted.

"Dude, your turn."

"Two cheeseburgers, fries, beer," Castiel ordered distractedly, eyes stuck on her.

The waitress glared at him.

"Our burgers are a pound each and we don't serve liquor."

"You heard him," Blair cut in, ignoring Castiel's focused gaze. "He'll have two, medium-well. Side of fries, extra crispy. He doesn't like when they sag and taste like mush. Side of honey mustard also. He only likes the ketchup on his burger. And it's the end of days, lady, are you really that damn surprised he wants alcohol?"

"We don't have-."

Her sputter was severed once more.

"You've been serving Budweiser on tap all day. If your religious boss wants to debate the ethics of when it's appropriate to drink, drag his ass out here and we'll talk. I guarantee I'm just getting started."

With a barely held back sneer, the waitress stalked away.

"You make friends left and right," Dean approved.

Blair shrugged. "She's been looking for a chance to be rude all day. I'm not in the mood for it."

"How'd you know what Cas liked?"

Sam's voice was bathed in suspicion, but she didn't mind it.

"Intuition. Plus, his thoughts were reflecting a memory of getting particularly soggy fries with ketchup once. He was quite displeased."

"You can read his mind?"

"Not his mind. It's...complicated. And really doesn't matter."

"You are above the spell you cast," Castiel noticed.

"Correct."

"How powerful are you?" Dean questioned.

"Guys!" Blair exclaimed, before lowering her tone. "This is not about power. This is not about trying to figure out what the hell I am. This is about strictly you two. Like I said, this is all temporary. In this brief time we have left, you two need to figure out a plan for Michael and Lucifer. They are human right now. That's an advantage you are not going to get again."

She sounded frustrated and tired all at the same time. The only reason Dean picked up on it was because he'd heard it reflected in his voice too many times as of late.

The brothers met each other's eyes before slowly nodding.

"What are our options?" Sam asked.

"The human Lucifer possessed, am I right in hearing he's dead?"

Dean looked puzzled for a moment.

"Dean shot him in the head in Carthage," Castiel assured.

"Oh...yeah."

Blair mentally took note of his not-quite-pleased tone.

"This is a blessing," she explained helpfully. "In the cage, it will only be Lucifer in the empty body of his vessel."

"Wait...you can return Lucifer to his cage?"

The urge to explain everything was intense, but she shook it off.

"Yes."

They kept staring at her.

"Yes," she insisted again, glancing between the two brothers. "It would be considerably more difficult were he equipped with his grace. But at the moment, he's defenseless."

"You're sure?" Sam demanded once more.

"I'll have to do it within the next six hours. But yes, I'm sure."

Sam slumped back into the booth, blinking with a disbelieving smile on his face.

Dean hid his relief better, though he wasn't entirely unaffected.

"This could all be over," he stated.

"We wouldn't be hunted."

"Worried about some damn angel dicks trying to kill everyone we love."

Blair averted her gaze, recognizing it was a private exchange between the two. But this left her to face Castiel, who switched his focus from the Winchesters to her.

"Do not give them false hope."

"False hope?"

"Yes," he asserted in his native tongue. "Tentatively, you have earned my trust. Should you betray the Winchesters in any way, however, I will not think twice of smiting you."

She observed him for a long moment, giving nothing away from her expression.

When she finally commented, it was said with such easy confidence that Castiel had to fight back the anxiety bubbling around in his vessel's chest.

"Threatening me will not end well for you, Castiel. I may not enjoy playing God, but if a situation calls for it, I will. I will in a way that'll exceed any fears you have ever known. Also, should you _ever_ lift a finger to smite me, I will drag you by your wings, into hell, and throw you inside Lucifer's cage. I've come to gather that is a mutual fear for all angels, is it not?"

Not realizing just how tight he was gripping his knee, Castiel cleared his throat with a cough, relaxing his fingers.

"Such an attempt would be unpredictable," he defended with a calm he couldn't quite muster. "The cage was created to only hold Lucifer."

The corner of Blair's lips turned up, though no trace of amusement could be found in her eyes.

"The cage will hold anyone I deem it," she answered coolly. "I should know. I was the one who built it."

Castiel's eyes widened.

Before he could verbally voice his shock, the waitress was back with their drinks. And Blair's gaze - far less intense - was back on Dean.


End file.
